Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 16 August 1881

It is raining — for the hands it does not matter, but for the afternoon plein-air work, there is no way. Mme de Brimont leaves this evening; she is in deep mourning for her husband, who died while we were in Russia, leaving his entire fortune to a young convent pupil — a child who is not even his daughter.
Cerny is a decent enough sort — though I think her mad. She understands nothing or little, and asks you questions that make you drop from the sky — in short she is stupid, and above all as idiotic as one can be while still at liberty. She handles business affairs — having connections in society — and it pays her.
But I cannot understand how this wooden woman could be good for anything. I mention her only because I thought I might employ her as a model — but there is no way; she is very willing, heart and soul, in order to have a painting to hang in her house — but she poses badly and cannot understand that one needs a certain number of consecutive hours.
But Breslau — I should like to know where she is. She is doubtless making sketches for the projects of her exhibition. She sees many people and draws good caricatures; I see no one, and everything I think of doing I abandon in advance, out of fear — and Ah! I feel lost.